Hetalia: WW III
by WingsofDust
Summary: It is sometime in the future, though when doesn't matter. The last straw has finally come, and the world is at war. No country is safe, and old enemies take to the battleground at last. Italy makes a bid for Europe, and Russia finally goes to war with the US, and Canada is caught in the crossfire. Rated T for blood, violence. Warning: Dark Hetalia.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or it would go something like this fanfic.**

**Author's Note: I did not mention North and South Korea for a very good reason in this fanfiction. US/ North Korean tensions are high as it is, so I thought it was unwise to write a fanfic where the US and North Korea start another world war. Russia and China are hopefully a better, yet still realistic, set of main countries here. Also, since the Koreas objected to being in Hetalia to the point where they never appear, I didn't want to insult them and encourage unnecessary flaming.**

**I am not trying to insult anybody or make a political statement. I will cast neither side as the "bad guys" if I can help it, except for from their enemies' point of view.**

**Read on, and don't take it too seriously.**

_There comes a time in history when war is inevitable. When all diplomatic efforts yield no results, and the longest friendships are torn apart by where one stands in that war. When the longest laid plans come to fruition, those who refuse to stand by will interfere instead. With this conflict of interests, the world grows ever closer to war, until finally... that war begins, a war that shall forever alter the course of history..._

_It is the 21 century. The exact year doesn't matter. But the countries do._

_The Russians and Chinese have banded together to further their interests. Those interests involve taking land that is not theirs to take, but take it they do. In an alliance with these two powers, Italy has decided to expand to the rest of Europe, and split it with his close ally, the United Kingdom. Brazil and the UK have mutual interests in the outcome of this war. Denmark wishes to annex Iceland, and Russia the Middle East. India wishes to further her interests in Asia, needing raw materials for her factories, raw materials other countries possess._

_America is in mutual defence treaties with Japan, France, Germany, Iceland, and Mexico. Canada remains neutral, taking no sides in this conflict but his own. Australia has strong diplomatic ties to Japan and Argentina. Diplomatic efforts between Argentina and Brazil are tense, and things in the Middle East are tenser, with half the region supporting the Russian annexation and half opposing it._

_This chapter starts immediately after the complete and utter breakdown of international peace treaties and diplomatic ties, when the Russian- Chinese alliance declares war on the United States of America. Italy invades Romano a few days later, and attacks Greece, pulling Germany into the war as well._

_And thus begins the biggest war the world has ever known..._

"Alfred, I have grave news," the President of the United States of America announced. "It appears that China and Russia have entered an alliance and declared war on us. Mobilize the military and prepare for possible ICBM strikes. Both countries are nuclear capable and we need to strike the first blow.

"Sir... you don't mean..." America whispered, his face deathly pale.

"No, not yet," the President agreed. "However, arm all nuclear missiles as a precaution. We must prepare for an invasion of Alaska and Hawaii, first and foremost. Also, notify all our allies and get a press release in the news. Prepare to march on Russia."

* * *

"Brother, stand down!" Italy yelled.

"Never, damn you! Why are you doing this?" Romano cried out. Italy raised his asault rifle to his shoulder, and gunned down another South Italian soldier.

"Because I am tired of living in your shadow, of being known as the weakling of Europe! I will do what we failed to achieve last time- VICTORY!" Italy screamed the last word out, and hundreds of North Italian soldiers surged over the battleground, ruthlessly cutting down their Southern counterparts. "Romano is mine!" Italy crowed, sending several bullets into his brother's knees. Romano collapsed in agony, but still gave his final order.

"South Italy! Retreat! Retreat! Retre-" His last word was cut off suddenly by Italy's gun. He stuck it against Romano's jaw, and fired. With a guttural scream, his lower jaw flew free of his face. Italy looked down coldly.

"You'll be giving no more orders today, Romano. You will surrender to the might of Italy." He turned to his general. "See that Romano falls to me this day. I don't care what it takes, or how many you kill, just take Romano by any means necessary." As if to punctuate his point, a volley of artillery fire mowed down many of the retreating South Italian army, and several fighter jets streaked in the direction of Romano's capitol.

Italy smashed the butt of his rifle against Romano's head, and Romano finally lost conscious. Italy threw him over his shoulder like the bags of potatoes that idiot Germany was so fond of, and walked over to the nearby helicopter that had just touched down. Italy tied up Romano in the back, and turned to the pilot.

"Take me to the Prigione di Paesi now. We've got our first prisoner. Italy smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Today is only the beginning," he said softly to himself. "Tomorrow... tomorrow we take the world!"

**Prigione di Paesi= Prison of the Nations- Italy and his allies' special prisons for the other country's when they are captured. The human embodiments, I mean. No, Romano is not dead. **


	2. Battle of the Bering Strait

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

America stood at the front atop a wall of hastily erected sandbags, a pair of binoculars in hand. He could see the approaching Russian armada through his fieldglasses, and reached for his radio. Alaska would not fall today.

"Squadrons Alpha, Beta, and Gamma, engage enemy fighters. Squadrons Delta and Epsilon, sink the enemy landing craft," he ordered, his normal good humor gone. Five squads of fighter jets flew overhead, and the lead jet released a missile. The missile impacted the first troop lander, and it errupted in a massive fireball.

"Artillery emplacements, fire on my command." America waited a few seconds. "FIRE!" The massive cannons released a deafening roar, flames shooting from the barrels. With an earth- shattering boom the Russian shipboard cannons swivled on their mounts and returned fire. America dove down behind the sandbag walls as the shells landed nearby.

When the smoke cleared, America could see the last member of Fighter Squadron Alpha splash down in the ocean, and the air above the approaching fleet was filled with anti- aircraft fire. A jet from Epsilon suddenly twisted in midair, and shot towards the lead ship.

"All air units, pull back! Pull back!" America shouted into his radio. "The ack- ack's too thick! You can't do anything else until they land!"

But the jet was in too steep a dive to pull out now. Breathe caught in his throat, America watched as the jet fell like a hawk, anti- aircraft rounds bursting in the air around it. Missile after missile was released from under the jet's wings, and tracers streaked from it's cannons. With a roar, the biggest deck cannon of the enemy flagship exploded, and the fighter did a tight roll and turn, locking onto a smaller missile cruiser. A deadly gash was ripped in it's hull, and it started listing almost immediatly.

The jet pulled up, and flew almost verically for several seconds. Another Russian missile cruiser launched five missiles from it's SAM turrets, and the jet did a quick turn to evade them. Diving again, it sank several landers. But an anti- aircraft rounds hit it's mark, and flames licked the unnamed pilot's wings. He pulled up, and the missiles on his tail drew closer. The plot released his chaf, but one missile exploded directly behind him. His engine burst into flames, and he made a beeline for land.

"C'mon, c'mon..," America willed the pilot to make it to safety. The flames engulfed the entire plane, making it a comet streaking to earth. The jet shot overhead just as the pilot yanked the ejection seat lever. He burst out of his jet like a phoenix, flames shooting out of the empty cockpit. The jet spun out of control and slammed into the coastline, and the pilot drifted down not thirty feet from America.

America ran to the pilot, and turned away with his hand over his mouth. Most of the pilot's flight suit was burned away, and his oxygen mask was melted to his face. The stench of burning flesh pervaded the air around him, and he stared through America, seeing something that wasn't there. He didn't even try to treat his charred flesh, he was so far gone.

America turned and yelled. "Medic! Medic!" A medic rushed over. While he was treating the pilot, America put two fingers on the pilot's chest, and two on his head, "I give you the strengh of the United States, let it be enough to help you carry on." He whispered. America could give some of his strength to a true, brave, American, without losing any of his own strength. Few could handle that much power without going insane or dying, howver, so America only did it very rarely. However, this man could use all the strength he could get just to survive his injuries.

The medic loaded the burnt pilot onto a medivac chopper, and it lifted off. America turned to the approaching landing craft, and narrowed his eyes. Alaska wouldn't fall to that commie if he could help it. Not today.


	3. Evacuation of Anchorage

**Disclaimer: LPGD does not own Hetalia. LPGD is also not promoting war, got that Homeland Security? Good. Let's continue the story, shall we? Just a disclaimer in case Homeland Security gets upset. Just in case.**

* * *

Italy looked at the spy standing at attention before him. Hopefully he had some information that would be actually useful.

"Sir, Greece appears to still be mobilizing their army. Their air force is small, as is their navy."

"And Germany?"

"It looks to be as if a small force of maybe a hundred germans are backing up the Greek military. They are led by a man named Ludwig."

Italy thought for a moment. "Good. Get the troops moving, we move out in twelve hours."

* * *

Russia stood at the bridge of his flagship, and looked toward the beach. The amphibious landers were being sunken by the score, but he was certain that America would be overwhelmed. Soon, he could finish what was started in the Cold War...

* * *

"Men, hold the line. We need to buy time to evacuate Anchorage." America ordered.

"Yes sir!" the marines replied.

"Hold them off for six hours, that should be enough to get the civilians out. Then, run. Try and make it back to the states, but hide in the woods if you have to." America turned away before his men could see the tear in his eye. Most of them wouldn't be coming back from this mission, and they all knew it. "It's an honor to serve with you all." He said.

* * *

"Ireland! Surrender at once and there will be no bloodshed!" England shouted through the bullhorn.

"Never! You already have part of my country! I will not surrender any more!" Ireland yelled back. England glanced at his phone.

"You have forty eight hours to surrender, and then I march on Dublin." England threatened. He turned on his heel, and walked away, his escorts following him.

* * *

"Go go go!" America shouted. "The Russians are coming, get to Fort Richardson!" (1) The sirens screamed, and people ran in the street, with US soldiers directing them to the nearby military base. Several Blackhawk and Apache helicopters hovered overhead, and the anti- aircraft guns mounted on trucks patrolled the streets. Off in the distance, artillery fire could be heard as the Russians advanced.

America started going door to door, rifle at the ready. Several soldiers followed his lead. On his fifth house, he found a man sleeping on his couch, with a set of earmuffs on. He shook the man awake, and half led, half dragged the stumbling man out the door.

When the last civilian was at the base, America hopped into a military jeep and drove to the base.

"Okay everybody, we are going to need to get out of Anchorage. The Russians are advancing quickly, and we don't have much time." A US Air Force commander whispered something in his ear.

"It looks as if we don't have enough air transport to get everybody out in time. Families and young children (2) get out by air, the rest of us will go over land. The last of the helicopters were filled, and they took off, the troop transport planes stuffed with people taking off under a fighter jet escort.

* * *

France studied the documents Ireland was looking at.

"So, do you think there's anything I can do? I know you have this sort of experience from the second world war..." Ireland trailed off. (3)

"Hmmm. From what I can tell England has you cornered," France said, his usual flirtatious manner gone. "You could try to pull your forces back to defend Dublin, but you will fall eventually. Your best chance for minimum loss of life would be to surrender. I was stronger in the second world war than you are now, no offence, so I was able to fight a while before surrendering. But England can crush you now, without much effort."

"So you want me to just surrender?" Ireland exclaimed.

"Yes, but disband the your military and order them into hiding. It's doubtful most of your citizens will welcome English occupation, and with your disbanded soldiers you can use guerrilla warfare tactics to make England's life here hell. Also, hide anything of value, he will take it if he can get it to fund his war."

Ireland looked down in defeat. "Fine," she said bitterly. "I'll give him hell, all right."

* * *

America could see the plumes of smoke on the horizon as he looked back at the burning Anchorage. His convoy was on the move, and nearing the US/ Canadian border. But he came to a stop at the sight of company of soldiers manning a roadblock. Canada was commanding the soldiers, a pistol in his hands.

"Turn back America. I will not be dragged into this war of yours."

America stepped down off his truck. "Take it easy brother, we only want to-"

"No." Canada said harshly.

"Just move out of the way, all I want is passage back to my country." America faced Canada, hands folded behind his back.

"I've already been abused for your peacetime screwups! What do you think Russia would do to me in war? He would raze all my cities to the ground! He's even threatened it outright at our last meeting! I'm sorry brother, but the lives of a hundred of your people aren't worth the lives hundreds of thousands of mine." Canada exclaimed.

America slowly pulled the pin behind his back. "Then I regret this, but it must be done." He tossed the flashbang at the roadblock, and it detonated before any of the Canadian soldiers could turn away. While they were disoriented, he ran forward and slammed the butt of his rifle into the side of Canada's helmet, and his eyes rolled up into his head before he collapsed. Several of the US soldiers who had broken off into the woods while America was talking rushed forward and knocked out the rest of the Canadian soldier.

"Drag them into the woods, out of sight. We will not leave them where Russia can find them, at least." After the unconscious men were out of sight, America grabbed several C4 charges from a supply truck and ran to the now- abandoned roadblock. He set the charges, and backed off behind a truck. "Clear!" He shouted, and the barricade exploded. When the smoke had cleared, the convoy continued on it's way, guns trained towards the sky for when the Russian jets would fly overhead. Not if, when.

* * *

Canada awoke with a start, and froze. What was happening? Then he remembered.

America, that idiot! Didn't he know what would happen? Canada crawled up the embankment next to the road, and peered over the edge. He could see the truck lights approaching, and squinted. He could barely make out the Russian flag fluttering overhead.

Canada gasped and ducked back down, into a large drainage pipe running under the road. Within a few minutes of tense waiting, he could hear the Russian trucks thundering overhead.

* * *

Russia opened his laptop, and sat in the back of his mobile command center. Once he had secured the beachhead, he was able to land his heavier cargo. Transports, troops, supplies, among other things, like the command center.

He watched out of the corner of his eye at the security feed coming from cameras positioned on various vehicles. He thought he saw movement on the side of the road, but when it didn't reappear, he dismissed it as an animal of some kind. Besides, America was further ahead. Russia looked forward to capturing that annoying superpower.

* * *

**I'll try to update often, thanks for reading! Any suggestions to who I should drag into the war next? I'm thinking China and Japan, who do you want to see?**

**This is just some stuff I referenced in this chapter, in case anyone is confused.**

**1- The US Army base in Anchorage, Alaska- next door to the Elmendorf US Air Force base. Don'tcha just love Google Maps?**

**2- It used to be "women and children first" in maritime evacuations, but I heard that after the Titanic sank it became "families and children first" to keep families together. So that's why I used it here.**

**3- Not sure if Ireland is a guy or a girl. I'm gonna assume Ireland's a girl since she appears that way in other fanfics.**


	4. Italy's Betrayal

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, nor do I claim any responsibility for any resemblance to real wars or political alliances, or lack thereof. Enjoy!**

* * *

China studied the video feed from one of his drones. India was near the brink of falling, he could tell that already. The Chinese Naval blockade had been a success, as had the forcible closing of their borders.

China had been making sure nothing got in or out of India for weeks before the war began, and people were dropping in the streets from starvation. China had gotten a new set of orders earlier that day. Now it was time to carry them out.

He zeroed in on a building with a red cross painted on the flat roof- a hospital. Best to leave nothing for them to treat the wounded when he invaded. China pressed the button, and an air to ground missile shot out from under the drone's wing. The upper floors vaporized in a fiery mushroom cloud as the powerful missile delivered it's payload. China felt a flash of regret, but it passed. A dragged- out campaign would cost more lives in the long run than this.

* * *

Japan picked up his ringing phone. It was India. **(****EDIT: I just found out that India's a guy. Oops. Ah well, it's fixed now. Sorry for any confusion.)** He was vaguely surprised. He hadn't heard much from the proud nation. Oh, he wasn't known for his pride as much as his population, but he was almost as proud as America. He wondered what he wanted.

"Japan, Japan! Help me, please! China has me under siege, and I'm starving to death! He's bombing my hospitals and cities, and... and... help me, I'm begging you!"

Japan sat back in shock. He knew things were bad, but bad enough that India would beg for help? This was more serious than he thought. Japan stood up, and strapped on his Katana. He hadn't wielded it since World War II, but he knew his skills were as sharp as the razor edge of his sword. There were some things that you just didn't forget. He stuck his pistol in the holster on his belt, and strode out the door.

* * *

India stood in the ruins of the hospital, swaying gently. His belly clenched in hunger, and he felt light- headed from lack of food.

A transport plane managed to get over the Chinese anti- aircraft guns, and a black- haired figure dropped out, deploying a parachute a few seconds into free- fall. Japan landed in an emty intersection, and unbuckled his parachute harness.

"Japan." India smiled slightly. His eyes were sunken, and his limbs were thin like sticks, and looked brittle. He was starving to death. Japan looked at him in shock.

"How... how long have you been like this?" he inquired.

"Three weeks now." He winced. "China just hit an apartment complex." He explained.

Japan looked at him with uncharacteristic anger. "I pledge my support to you, and I promise we'll try break the Chinese blockade." Nobody, and that means _nobody, _did this to one of his closest friends.

Japan looked at his phone. "Do you still have an intact navy or air force?" He asked.

"Yes, but they're all either grounded or stuck in a harbor." He informed him.

"I'll put together an attack force. In the meantime, I'll try to airdrop food, water, and medical supplies to you."

"Thank you, Japan. This means more to me than you know." India said. With a farewell nod of his head, Japan faded into the shadows. The skills of a ninja are another thing you never forget.

* * *

Ireland sat down at the table with England, and looked at the document. The official surrender of Ireland and the acceptance of UK rule. The negotiations had been dragging on for hours.

"I wish for three things as part of this treaty," Ireland said. "One: you shall not cause unnecessary destruction to the nation of Ireland. Two: Ireland will be allowed local self- government. And three: You shall let me go free."

"That sounds fair enough," England conceded. And with that, Ireland resentfully signed the treaty and stormed out the door. England was slightly worried about that country. He couldn't afford for her to become another America and want full independence. He would have to keep an eye on her.

* * *

The Italian Army and the Greek Army with it's German partners were locked in massive battle, with Germany and Italy at the center.

"Italy! What happened to you!" Germany yelled. "We were friends, and good ones too! Come back!"

"No! I am gone for good now, Germany!" Italy fired off another burst of machine gun fire, which Germany dodged.

"But the bloodshed..." Germany said.

"It is terrible, undeniably," Italy acknowledged.

"You can end it! Just be the old Italy again, the pasta- loving friend! Please!" Germany begged. He couldn't bear to see his old friend like this, blood covering his blue uniform and battlefield mud rubbed in his orange hair, turning it brown. Somewhere down there the real Italy could end this madness, he just knew it.

Italy stepped back in shock, and lowered the machine gun barrel to the ground. "Germany..." he trailed off.

"Just wave your white flag one last time, Italy, it doesn't have to be this way! Don't you remember the bloodbathe when I made this same mistake all those years ago? We don't need to be the Axis of the world, we just need to be the countries of the world! Put down your weapon!" Germany implored.

Italy dropped the machine gun in the wet mud, and pulled a white flag with a collapsable pole from inside his coat. "Ve~ Germany!" Italy ran towards his old friend, white flag in hand. Germany held out his arms to embrace the old Italy, to bring him back from the brink of insanity like he himself had succumbed to all those years ago. Italy fell into his arms, and then-

Germany felt a searing pain in his stomach, and looked down in horror. The pole of Italy's white flag was protruding from his chest, and Italy forced him to his knees. Germany feebly grasped the pole, but couldn't yank it out. Italy snatched a lock of his hair and forced Germany to look at up at him.

"Fool!" spat Italy. "To honestly believe you could stop me? I learned from our mistakes last time, you stupid potato bastard." Italy laughed, a cold, mirthless laugh. "Germany! Germany!" He mocked. "Help me!" Italy shook his head. "And you were almost so great last time, too..."

Germany made a gurgling sound, and Italy yanked the flag pole free from his chest. The razor- sharp spear tip mounted on the end of the flagpole was dripping crimson, and the white flag itself red with Germany's blood.

Italy viciously kneed Germany in the face, and his head snapped backwards. Germany dropped, blood still weakly pumping into the already blood- stained earth.

"FOR ITALY!" Italy waved the now- red white flag in the air, and his men methodically moved forwards. Most of the Greek Army was now dead, and what few members remained fled in blind panic.

Italy passed a burned- out tank, and spotted movement behind it. Investigating further, he found Greece covered in his own blood, several hastily wrapped bullet wounds keeping him from running. He was stroking the head of a dead cat, the rest of the body burned and blackened. Tears were running down his face, and he was shaking slightly. Another soldier with his legs blown off was laying next to Greece, trying to comfort his country.

Italy strode over to the two wounded men, and stared at them.

"Please... I surrender." Greece said. His military was nothing but a smoldering ruin, and several cities bombed beyond recovery. Italy kicked him in the head with his steel- toed boots, and with a crack Greece's head slammed into the side of the tank. He lost consciousness almost immediately.

"Please, sir, don't kill me, I'll do anything you want. I have family in Italy! Just don't kill me!" The Greek soldier pleaded. Italy had no compassion.

He shot him through the head.


	5. Refugee Battle

**Yeah, sorry I haven't updated in awhile. I really have no excuses that go with a serious fanfic, but I've got plenty of crack- fic worthy excuses that I won't post here.**

**In case you noticed earlier, I lied in chapter one. Italy, Russia, China, and Britain are the "bad guys," and America, Germany, Japan, France, and India, as well as some other countries, are the "good guys." This does not reflect my political views, and I don't own Hetalia.**

**So, most of the nations are majorly out of character, like Italy. Italy's actions last chapter were definitely not canon. Also, the Bad Touch Trio aren't acting like the Bad Touch Trio, and America is being serious.**

**You'll be glad to know that Russia is still creepy, Switzerland is still protective, and Liechtenstein is still willing to follow her brother wherever he goes.**

**Read on, and a little warning? This is no happy fanfiction. But you already knew that.**

* * *

America was running out of time, and he knew it. Russia was closing in, and ammo was low. There were less than a hundred rounds left for the full automatic antiaircraft machine gun, the single one he had left.

Russia's air assaults on the evacuation convoy had taken their toll. Less than twenty of the sixty trucks that had left Anchorage remained, and over half of the refugees were dead or wounded. He could tell that the Russian convoy sent to catch them was closing, but they were nearly to the US border. Russia would be desperate.

"Mister, do you have any water? I'm so thirsty." The weak voice of a young orphan reached his ears, accompanied by a tug at the leg of his jeans. America looked down at the young child. Her parents had been killed by a Russian air attack, the missile obliterating the truck the child's family was in. She was the sole survivor.

"Of course. Here." America handed the young child his canteen with a slight smile for the child's sake. While the child wasn't looking, America clenched his fists. Russia would pay for each and every widow and orphan made by this war. And he would pay in blood.

* * *

"Sir, we're near the US/ Canadian border." The scout reported to Russia. Russia mentally calculated the distance.

"We might still catch them if we hurry. Dump all unnecessary cargo and try to catch up." He ordered. The scout stared.

" Sir? We'd be leaving behind almost all our supplies, and there are no more coming. Is this wise?" Russia glanced at the scout.

"Did I ask you to question me?" He said dangerously.

"N- no sir. I'm sorry sir!" The scout suddenly became very afraid.

"Yes. Yes you are." Russia pulled out his pistol and shot the scout in the chest. He dropped without a sound. "You." Russia pointed to a scared soldier who was trying very hard to look invisible. "Throw this outside."

The terrified soldier lifted the body of his comrade by the arms, and dragged it to the doors of the Mobile Command Center. Opening the door against the freezing rain and wind, he tossed the body out of the moving truck.

The body landed on the roadside, and was soon covered by the mud thrown up by the passing vehicles. Russia didn't look back. It was finally time to teach that evil capitalist a lesson.

* * *

Prussia stood alone on the battlefield, observing the carnage left in the aftermath. A gentle rain was pouring down from the gray clouds overhead, making the blood and mud mix into a brownish mixture that squelched under the heels of his boots.

He remembered when he was still a country, and was willing to do this. When politics and trade and all those diplomatic issues were the center of his life, as it was for all countries. When he could point himself out on a map, and attend World Meetings, and proudly march through the streets of his cities, with the crowds of his citizens cheering as their parade floats passed by. Sometimes he missed those days.

But then, he always remembered this. War. The sharp, stabbing pains like bee stings each time one of his soldiers died, the blood, the screaming, the wounded, the dead, the anguish of families back home, the grief of friends on the battlefield.

At times like this,, it felt like it was better to no longer be a country. When his whole life was nothing but fun and games, it was so easy to forget the responsibilities he once had.

Prussia stepped over the a small hill, and saw something glint in the fading light. A black iron cross, well worn from it's years with it's owner. No. It couldn't be. It can't be. Prussia ran to the body and turned it over. It was Germany.

Germany was covered in blood and grime, his pistol still in it's holster along side his combat knife. There was a massive hole just above his navel, and the exit hole in his back. The rain had washed the mud off his face, but his skin was gray. His uniform was soaked in crimson, and his eyes were half closed.

"Germany! Bruder, no! Germany!" Prussia cried out, picking him up. Germany's head and arms dangled limply. A weak rattle escaped his throat, and a trickle of blood ran out of the corner of his mouth. "Medic! Medic!" Prussia called. But the battlefield was empty, except for the corpses; the two of them the only living things for miles.

Prussia threw his dying brother over his shoulders, and jogged towards the nearest town, trying to be as gentle as possible. And watching them with a sightless gaze, were the glazed eyes of a legless Greek soldier, his face fixed in an eternal expression of terror and desperation.

* * *

The convoy rose over a hill top, and America grinned for the first time in days. He could see the checkpoint coming into view, and not a moment too soon either. He could hear the rumbling of Russian tanks closing only a few miles behind them, but it looked like they were out of luck. Out of luck, you damned communist!

The checkpoint was lined with US soldiers, guns raised towards the Canadian side of the border. As the last of the refugee convoy crossed the bridge, a soldier hit the detonator. With a massive roar, pieces of the bridge flew up in the air before it collapsed into the river. While the echo of the mighty blast was still ringing, the artillery opened up, a deafening sound. The first Russian tank to come into view was obliterated in a cloud of dirt, and a smoking crater blocked the road.

America could hear the drone of far off planes, growing louder every second. He swore under his breath.

"Get the civilians out of here! Incoming jets, take cover!" With a roar, the Russian mortars on the other side of the river opened fire, and America was thrown to the ground by the shockwave of an explosion. When the smoke cleared, he could see the smoking, twisted metal remains of a US artillery gun, smashed with a direct hits from enemy fire.

The two sides were barely a half a mile apart, well within the range of small arms fire. America ducked as a sniper bullet whizzed past his head. Another sniper bullet hit a civilian in the chest, and he collapsed in the dirt.

The noise of the fighter jets was getting louder, so loud that it was impossible to hear anything else. America felt something pass overhead, and a second later an air- to- surface missile slammed into a column of US armored units, tanks and trucks coming to a stop with flames shooting out of their hatches.

"Retreat! Retreat!" America shouted. "Get those civvies out of here, now! We'll hold them off! Scramble as many men as you can to intercept the russians, and get some jets in the air!" Raising his rifle, America shot down russian after russian, but then one man appeared who made him stop cold.

He was wearing a long white cloak, and held a scythe in one hand and a pistol in the other. A fur cap sat on his head, and even from there America could see the his eyes alight with the fire of battle. One country once was, and is again, a match for America's strength and power.

Russia.

* * *

****

Thanks for reading. R&R, please. 


	6. On Hiatus

**Hi everyone... Sorry about not updating in a while. I'll be honest with you. I'm just not feeling the inspiration for this fanfiction, I have no clue where to take it. Writer's Block. A very big, very obstructing, very aggravating Writer's Block that has thwarted my best efforts to break through it. So... I'm putting this fanfiction On Hiatus for a while. I don't know when I'll update again. But don't worry. This fanfiction isn't done, not by a long shot.**

**Someday I'll get back to this one- I'm just shelving it until that day comes. In the mean time, I'm going to unshelve an On Hiatus fanfiction that I just got inspired about again. Thanks for reading, and I'll be back!**

**-LPGD**


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